No Joy In Mudville

Last night I dreamt that I was you. I was dressed all in black with dark glasses and attitude
Such a pose I could simply not hold through days in a northern town that I had once called a home
Your studies of fringe New York streets... I was reading the pavement in every work you would speak
To a "brownstone up three flights of stairs" and it's on...

Buying drinks for the poets upstate, this southern corrupting towed you down the interstate
And they all said that you were the king of gloomy disruption that surfaced when you would speak
This town simply cannot compete so I'm packing my Bullets and Silverstones
And heading east to a "brownstone up three flights of stairs" and it's on...

If I could have (had) my way this year would bridge '66 (again?)
Trust fund hipsters were casing the room chock full of amphetamines
The overturned kick drum book set the pace with incomparable cool
And if the tempo was lousy it was lost on all but you...